This past weekend I took my daughter to camp.  She'll be away for three weeks, have a week vacation with us, then spend three weeks with her grandparents at the lake.  I am so jealous.  I want to go to camp.

The camp she goes to is a quick seven hour drive from here.  (Yes, the "quick" part was sarcasm.)  Usually we try to work the trip in with a stop at our cabin, but with work schedules this year we couldn't work that out.  So I left my husband and son at home and made the trip with my fourteen year old.  I can't believe I'm writing this, but we had a blast.

My mother is a big Danielle Steel fan, and passes on audiobooks so we have something to listen to on long rides.  We were down to the bottom of the pile, and had to choose between Steel's Bungalow 2 and one that was guaranteed to make us cry.  We went with Steel, since usually her stories are somewhat entertaining.  Bungalow 2, however, is the worst piece of drivel I have come across in a long time.  The main character seemed to have the same thought over and over and over again.  We spent most of the ride yelling at the story, telling the woman to get over herself and move on already.  We could have turned it off, but we were having way too much fun criticizing the characters and predicting what would happen next.  By time we got to the motel Saturday night, we were a mother-daughter team, having bonded in our mockery of a poorly written story.

We settled into our room at the Best Western and, while we contemplated where to have dinner, my daughter booted up my laptop to test the wi-fi.  It worked, and she decided I needed to see some videos of Jeff Dunham, a ventriloquist, on YouTube.  He may be the funniest comedian I have seen in a long time.  I was doubled-over, tears streaming down my face.  We watched clips for two hours, then decided we really should eat, and ventured into the outskirts of Utica, NY, in search of a vegetarian dinner. 

After driving around for half an hour, and not finding anyplace that didn't have neon beer signs in the window, we gave up and headed back towards the hotel and the McDonalds next door, thinking we could at least eat salad and french fries.  Right before we reached the hotel, we stumbled on a pizza joint carefully hidden on a side street, and picked up some wonderful stuffed eggplant, mozzarella sticks, and pizza.  We ate in our room, watching more Jeff Dunham and trying not to choke. 

We flopped on our beds and my daughter flipped channels until she came across some gross real-life emergency room show, which she left on just to hear me say "ewwwww".  In the morning, we slept until 10, checked out, and headed to Denny's for breakfast. 

Denny's has wi-fi too, so we watched parodies of Shakira videos on my iTouch, sharing the headset, while we waited for our food.  I'm sure the people at the surrounding tables were wondering what was so funny.  The waitress gave us plenty of odd looks, especially after we told her to hold the bacon and sausage.  I don't think that happens often in Utica, but maybe I'm wrong and all the cows we passed on the way in are just there for the tourists to look at.

After Denny's we get back in the car, and back to mocking the story, and head towards camp.  Fifteen minutes later the rain started.  No drizzle, no summer shower, we got a downpour.  My daughter turned the story off at one point when we could no longer see the road.  She didn't want me to be distracted.  She's big on self-preservation.

The rain followed us all the way to camp, and it continued to downpour as we unloaded her bags and checked her in.  She abandoned me at registration to say hello to friends, and the reunion never came inside.  By the time I was finished, they were all soaked through, but didn't seem to care as they hugged and laughed and caught up on the year since they'd seen each other last.

I had to ask for a hug before I left, but I wasn't told to leave NOW, so I'm considering that a major breakthrough.  I said good-bye to my daughter and her dreadlocked counselor (this camp is such a cool place) and put the heat on in the car so my clothes would dry.  Then I set out in the rain for the seven hour drive home alone.

I wanted to stay.  The kids were having a great time, despite the rain.  I want to sleep in a cabin and gab to the other girls half the night and paint my toenails funky colors.  I want to flirt with the boys and swim and canoe and backpack.  I even want to pull leeches off and scratch mosquito bites until they bleed.  I want three weeks of something that feels more like freedom than being home, but, alas, someone has to pay for camp, so today I was back at work, missing my daughter more after the fun we had on the trip there. 

Tonight I am alone with my son; my husband is working late, again.  He's playing knight, and has converted the sectional into a fort, a process which involves every cushion ending up somewhere besides where it belongs.  A plastic spear just flew through the living-room, and the dogs are cowering under the dining-room table.  I no longer want to go to camp, but I am counting the years until he can go. 

Last weekend we had two days that were relatively unscheduled, for a change.  It was too hot to do much outside, so I started on one of the jobs I've been putting off for months - cleaning out.  We have a finished basement that is the kids playroom as well as our office area and the laundry room.  For the past year or so, I've dealt with the mess down there by not looking at it.  I couldn't take more than a few steps into the room, anyway, without stepping on toys that littered the floor.  I understood why the kids never cleaned it up.  They had way more stuff than they had places to put the stuff, which to me says "too much stuff".  (George Carlin, rest in peace.) 

My husband calls the way I deal with a mess like this "cleaning with prejudice".  If I don't instantly see a reason to save it, out it goes.  There were many toys which even the little one has outgrown.  Those went to the curb, before garbage day, and are now spread around the neighborhood, probably into houses where there are also more toys than storage space, but at least they are out of mine.  Next, a huge bag was filled with anything broken, cracked, torn, incomplete, duplicated or just utterly useless.  The few things that remained went were they belonged.  Books went back on the bookshelves.  Tapes and DVDs back in the entertainment center.  Craft supplies went into their labeled containers.  After all that, I had an amazing discovery.  There is carpeting on the floor.  It had been so long since I'd seen it, I'd forgotten it was there.

Now I was on a roll, so I sent my husband to take our son to a birthday party, and started on my son's room.  There I learned an important lesson - when you ask a 4 year old to clean his room, make sure you are very specific about what gets cleaned up to where.  When I emptied his toy box, I discovered why he'd been running out of socks every week.  When he put things away in the toy box, everything on the floor went in the toy box.  After I cleaned out the floor of his closet, I had an entire load of laundry to do. 

When his room was done, the garbage cans were filled to overflowing and I had more old toys sitting out on the curb.  Before you decide I'm a terrible mother for throwing all my kid's stuff away, let me tell you about the giant plastic tub full of toys that had been my daughter's, which we had been saving until our son was old enough to play with them.  I put those toys in my son's room, so when he came back his room was clean AND had a bunch of "new" toys in it.  He was in heaven, and has been so busy playing with the new things that he didn't even notice what was missing. 

While my son is enjoying new playthings, I get to enjoy standing in neat, uncluttered places which had been chaotic last week.  I love the energy in clean rooms.  It's like the rooms are bigger and have more air in them, or something.  I can walk around without stepping on anything but the floor.  This is my nirvana. 

Another week of work, then we go on vacation.  When I come back, I should be rested enough to tackle my daughter's room.  She is gone for the rest of the summer, so I have time.  For now, I'm just leaving the door closed.

Tonight I taught the last yoga class of my first 10 week session at the local community college.  We start another session in September, but in the meantime I am already missing my students.  Many are coming back for the next session, but some, for various reasons, aren't available.  I hate to lose any of them; I love them all.

When I think back to the beginning of the session, I remember how nervous I was.  They had all committed to 10 weeks, so I had to make sure they didn't hate me after the first class.  None of them hated me, as far as I know.  They all showed up every week and brought their laughter and questions and eagerness to learn.  The group made it so easy for me.  I challenged them, and, if the asana was too much for them, they sat there and laughed.  As the weeks went on I watched them settle into meditation.  I got them to chant "om".  It was such a joy to work with a group of beginners and see them improve.

Three students showed up early tonight and brought me a present.  I was so touched, I was afraid I would cry.  Have I mentioned how much I love my students? 

I truly believe that the universe gives you what you need and all you have to do is be open to receive it.  The universe brought me the perfect group of students to get me started on my yoga teaching journey.  For that, I am extremely grateful.

In August I'm taking over a Sunday morning class at the yoga studio.  I am looking forward to teaching there, but I am counting the days until my community college class starts again.  I guess the first one will always be dearest to me.